THE HEART-SHAPED BOX
Being the combined efforts of the authors of Here Be Magic: The Blog
a novella by
Hera B. Magic
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers' imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
THE HEART-SHAPED BOX
By Hera B. Magic (via Meankitty Publishing)
Copyright (c) 2014 Danube Adele, Angela Campbell, Shona Husk, Jane Kindred, Nicole Luiken, RL Naquin, Shawna Reppert, Veronica Scott, Regan Summers, Shawna Thomas, Jody Wallace
Cover by Angela Campbell
Editing by Jody Wallace
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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Authors' Note to Readers: This novella began its literary life as a Valentine's Day flash fiction creativity exercise by various authors of the Here Be Magic blog. Those author participants are, in alphabetical order, Danube Adele, Angela Campbell, Shona Husk, Jane Kindred, Nicole Luiken, RL Naquin, Shawna Reppert, Veronica Scott, Regan Summers, Shawna Thomas, Jody Wallace. The blog is located at https://herebemagic.blogspot.com/
THE HEART-SHAPED BOX: The Blurb
Take one metaphorical heart-shaped box. Hand it to eleven authors as a story seed. What do you get?
A porcelain music box. Candy. Magical stones. Love. Fairies. Demons. Brushes with horror. And cats. Of course, there are cats.
The Heart-Shaped Box is an 18,000 word paranormal anthology with stories Danube Adele, Angela Campbell, Shona Husk, Jane Kindred, Nicole Luiken, RL Naquin, Shawna Reppert, Veronica Scott, Regan Summers, Shawna Thomas, and Jody Wallace.
Rated PG-13. Contains mild profanity, sexual references, and minor violence.
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Blurb
Story 1: Birthright by Shawna Thomas
Story 2: A Pledge of Devotion by Regan Summers
Story 3: Destiny in a Box by Angela Campbell
Story 4: Heart-shaped Box of Memories by Nicole Luiken
Story 5: The Silver Prison by Shawna Husk
Story 6: The Knowing and the Myst by Danube Adele
Story 7: The Shape of His Heart by Jane Kindred
Story 8: Sherlock Holmes and the Secret of the Heart-Shaped Box By Shawna Reppert
Story 9: Violets in the Snow by Veronica Scott
Story 10: Unmatched Cupid by RL Naquin
Story 11: A Box Full of Faerie by Jody Wallace
About the Authors
Birthright
By Shawna Thomas
The carriage jostled on the rutted road, further bruising Jareth's already sore backside. He much preferred riding or even walking to a closed carriage, but he didn't want to risk being recognized. Not now. He reached for the small package deep in his coat pocket and realized he'd done so at least two dozen times since retrieving it. As it had each time, his breath caught as he unwrapped the tattered cloth to stare at the plain brown heart-shaped box.
It was small, but heavy for its size, easily fitting in the palm of his hand. It was an unassuming box, unless you had the magic to sense what lay within. Jareth ran his hand over the smooth wood. Words flickered to life in the wake of his touch. Although he recognized the ancient language, they disappeared before he could decipher their meaning. He didn't have enough magic to make them stay.
He didn't, but she did.
Would Calli think he brought her a blessing or a curse? He shook his head, staring at the fine mahogany grain of the wood. "Power, so much power."
Was she ready for it? He took a deep breath, letting determination fill him as he exhaled. It was time. He'd witnessed her power over the years. Small things. Her ability to heal the animals in the surrounding woods. Her knack for always knowing which herb to use. She didn't have a clue. Of that he was certain.
Jareth sighed. He hated when Calli left the security of the walled manor, but not even his stern warnings could keep her in. She'd so charmed most of his guards, they let her wander at will but followed at a discrete distance. It was perhaps dangerous, but even he had a problem denying her anything. She was his world. Besides, they were so far removed for the nearest village and no one here knew he was anything more than a reclusive lord. Once one of the guards had frightened a small fawn and she had so scolded the battle-hardened man that he'd returned red faced and ashamed.
She had a power over men too. A born ruler.
He closed his eyes, once again smelling smoke, the clang of swords, and the screaming. Jareth swallowed past a dry throat. He'd been his outer chamber, collecting ancient scrolls to make a hasty escape when the door had burst open. He'd expected his death but found his king wild-eyed and frantic, thrusting a wrapped bundle in his arms as the halls echoed with thunder.
He'd followed the king's instructions to the letter, not stopping until he'd traveled the underground passages and followed the river to the small fisher's shack. He'd carefully unwrapped the bundle, already guessing what was inside. She'd been so tiny, so perfect. They'd drugged her with niander leaf and she still slept peacefully. Her tiny chest moved in a steady rhythm. He remembered wondering if she could fathom that her life had just changed.
Inside the bundle he'd found enough gems to run a small country for a lifetime, provisions for the baby, a scroll and the wooden box. Jareth hadn't needed to open the box. He was the court historian. He knew what was inside.
Written in the king's hasty scratching, the scroll warned him to hide the box and the baby far away from each other until the time was right and to keep her safe at all cost.
Was the time right? He was only an historian, a failed one at that. How was he supposed to know the time was right? He quickly replaced the box and closed his eyes.
Would she hate him for lying to her? That was his biggest fear. She thought she was the daughter of an eccentric minor lord, not the heir to the kingdom. He leaned against the jostling seat and closed his eyes, letting the weariness of the last few weeks lull him to sleep.
It took him a moment to realize the screams had not followed him from his dreams. His limbs went cold. Men shouted. The carriage was under attack. He peeked out the curtained window. They were not far from the manor. Calli.
A horse screamed followed by the sibilance of steel. He drew his own short sword. He'd asked his men to teach him the finer points of self-defense, just in case. From the sounds coming from outside the carriage, he wasn't wrong.
A thud hit the carriage a moment later. The box. He had to get the box to safety. If it fell into the wrong hands... Acid coated his stomach.
"Papa!"
His heart leapt in his chest. What was Calli doing out here?
Jareth kicked open the carriage door and rolled outside. His men battled twice their number. The attackers resembled bandits, except for their first class weapons and skill. An arrow flew overhead and thudded into the carriage wall behind him.
Two men ran into the forest toward where Calli had screamed. He ran after them. Fire pierced his thigh. He stared in stunned disbeli
ef at the fletching sticking out of his leg. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself to keep going.
He whirled in time to block a downward arc of a sword and swiped blindly with his knife. The spray of blood almost surprised him. The man crumpled. He surveyed his surroundings as though in a dream. Where was Calli? Fewer of his men fought and more bodies littered the road. Lost. He had to get the box to safety.
Calli emerged from the forest between two men. He raced forward. A dull thud sounded and something hit him from behind. He looked down, shocked to see an arrow piercing his chest. He dropped to his knees and began to crawl toward his daughter.
"Papa." The word was almost whispered yet he felt the reverberations of it through the ground. The heart-shaped box in his pocket jumped as though it was a living thing. The bloodstone. Blood calling to blood. That's why the king wanted it far from his daughter. It recognized her. Filled with the blood and power of her ancestors, it now called to her.
"Stop!"
It was the same tone she used when she'd found two young guards teasing one of the kitchen boys in the yard. Only this time, the air vibrated with power. The bandits froze and then crumpled to the ground. He was close enough to see confusion replace the fear in Calli's eyes and then she was hovering over him.
"Papa." She sobbed.
He reached for the heart-shaped box in his pocket. "Your birthright." Every breath hurt and his words gurgled in his throat.
"Papa, don't leave me. They attacked the manor. I escaped into the woods but I heard your carriage. Everyone is dead. Papa."
As though from far away, he felt his head moved to her lap. Tears pooled in her pale green eyes.
Jareth reached up and touched her face. "I have loved you."
"Don't." She offered a wobbly smile. "We'll get you to a healer. You're going to be fine."
He smiled and pressed the box into her hands. She gasped as he felt the magic within surge.
"Your birthright," he repeated. "Show it to no one. Find Elodia."
The world began to darken. He decided the box was both a blessing and a curse.
A Pledge of Devotion
By Regan Summers
"That better not be a ring," John says, feet shuffling as he stares down at the box. He pauses, then says in his instructive voice, "That's a human custom. Of courtship."
I know the custom, have read the stories and viewed the scenes of one lover on his-usually his-knee, offering love. Pledging devotion.
"It's not a ring," I say, insides fluttering. He takes up the box, recovered from the bottom of the sea, and dull bits of barnacle shell fall to the floor as he removes the top with his pale, thick hands.
"I'm not good with your art," John says, squinting at the note.
I look down at the crisp white paper, the even black script. I worked so hard, so hard on forcing my bones to bend so that I could grip the pen. So hard on keeping the paper dry as I etched out the symbols.
"It's not art." I gesture toward the three distinct words. How can he not see? "It says?"
He makes an impatient sound, a sound of finality. The world is suddenly blurry and a noise escapes me, a low whistle that makes him wince.
"Sorry." He shoves the box onto the table. "I'll have one of the techs document it. To?to chart your progress." He marches out of the room, not as fast as his two legs can carry him but fast enough.
The page curls in the humidity of the room. The words droop, the ink bleeding away. I sink back into my tank.
"It says 'I love you'."
Destiny in a Box
by Angela Campbell
?
Dee lifted the packaging paper out of the box that had come in the mail this morning. The box she knew contained some inheritance from her late grandfather. She'd barely known the crotchety old man, but his death, just before the disappearance of her fianc? six months ago, had been a heavy blow.
The police believed Liam had gotten cold feet and taken off of his own accord. She'd had a hard time believing her grandfather's devilishly handsome assistant had fallen for her anyway. Dr. Jeffrey Smith had been her only living relative, a mostly absent figure in her life, but she'd loved him. Now?both men were gone,?and?she truly was alone in the world.
"Meow."
As warm fur brushed against her elbow, Dee jumped. No. She wasn't alone. She still had her faithful cat, Loki, a gift from her grandfather when she'd been 16. Her lovey dovey, cuddly wuddly baby boy.
As the cat jumped into the medium-sized UPS box, the crinkling of the paper inside rattled her nerves for a reason she didn't understand. Foreboding settled heavy in her gut, stilling her actions.
Did she really want to know what was inside this thing?
Peeling back the paper, she saw a book. The Heart-Shaped Box by Destiny S. O'Connell.
The air left her lungs on a gasp. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"
Destiny Smith was her full name. Destiny O'Connell would have been her legal name had she married Liam on Valentine's Day as planned.
"Meow."
Loki dug at the paper, revealing two small, velvet boxes. His head nudged one toward her hand, but her gaze was focused on the envelope wedged between his body and the cardboard. She lifted the paper out of the envelope, her heart beating a steady rhythm in her ears.
Dearest Destiny. I know what happened to Liam. If you want to discover the truth, put on the ring. Make sure Loki is fitted with his charm first. The book is included in case you need convincing. Yours, J.S.
She read and re-read the letter numerous times. But it didn't make sense! How could her grandfather have possibly known what happened to Liam when he'd died before Liam had disappeared? Flipping through the book only inspired more confusion. Its copyright was 1927. The pages were filled with nonsense about a young woman who went back in time to help her grandfather, a scientist/time traveler, battle a race of alien monsters in the Victorian era after receiving a package she fondly referred to as "the heart-shaped box."
"Ow!" The swipe of Loki's claw against her arm left behind a trail of blood and stinging pain.
His furry, gray head again nudged one of the black velvet boxes toward her. Frowning, she lifted the lid, exposing a gleaming silver charm with Loki's name on it.
Hand trembling, she attached the charm to his collar. Heart doing laps around her chest, she slid the ring onto her finger, too.
"All right, then. About bloody time."
Dee glanced around at the unexpected voice. A man's voice. British. Suave. Kind of 007-ish.
She saw no one. "Hello?"
"Down here. Hello? It's me. The, uh, cat."
Eyes wide, she stared at her pet. "Loki?"
A long sigh preceded the voice again. "My proper name is Baron Von Brohemeaus Jones. I suppose you can continue calling me Loki if your feeble mind can't comprehend the other. I've been tasked with guarding you. A bit boring, I must admit. Absolutely no one has tried to kill you yet. The pity."
"Uh."
"Very well. We mustn't dawdle." Loki pounced out of the box and darted toward the fireplace. "I didn't think your communication device would ever arrive."
"Communication device?" Oh dear lord. She had finally gone off the deep end. Flipped. Gone bonkers!
A whistling snapped her attention back to the feline. "Tick tock, Miss Smith. This way!"
The room threatened to spin around her as she watched, befuddled, as Loki nudged a brick beside the fireplace with his head, causing the wall to slide open and reveal another room.
Holy-!
"Your grandfather saved my father's life when the Crickatar invaded our planet, and now, my family is indebted to yours. Ironically, your planet's feline species closely resembles my people, allowing me to pass as your pet." He waited until she followed to close the wall-how? She had no idea. "There's another box on that desk. Open it."
This time, it was a heart-shaped box. A thick and wide wristwatch was curled inside.
"Program it to 1888 Whitechap
el, and for the love of Phalamacktal, make certain you're holding onto me when you press Send."
The digital interface on the watch allowed her to type a date and city. Her fingers trembled as she hit the buttons. Was she even entertaining the idea any of this was real?
Wait. "Whitechapel?"
Loki's little head nodded as he jumped up and clung to her sweater, pulling himself up so that she had to either lift him or be clawed to death. "As in Jack the Ripper. Your grandfather is hot on his trail. He's actually a Crickatar. Nasty creatures, those Crickatars." Settled in the crook of her arm, he reached over and pushed the button with his paw.
A burst of white blinded her momentarily as ringing deafened her ears. Blinking, she realized she now stood in some kind of alley. Cobblestones were uneven beneath her booted feet, a thin layer of fog curling around her legs.
The ringing sound faded away. The click clack of a horse's hooves grew louder and passed.
Loki leapt from her arms, so she called, "Wait!"
But the cat had already disappeared into the shadows.
Heart thumping, Dee pinched herself and felt the slight sting of pain. This was real? How could this be real? In the distance, a man's familiar voice yelled, "Stop!" The slap of feet on pavement stampeded closer, and Dee shrank against the nearest building to get out of the way.
A dark-clad figure barreled past her hiding spot. An older man, gray hair curling at his ears, glasses perched on his pointed nose, gave chase. Dee's eyes widened. Holy crap! That man looked exactly like her grandfather!
Another person, younger, handsome, with thick dark hair and an aristocratic profile, followed and caused her heart to leap into her throat. "Liam!" she yelled.
He turned, his eyes widening when he spotted her.
"Dee?" Giving up his pursuit, he approached her warily. "Is it really you?" Before she could speak, he tugged her into his arms. "I didn't think you'd ever get here."
She shoved him away. "What is going on?"
Three sharp bursts of a whistle blew in the distance, followed by, "Over'ere."
Liam's face grew more serious. "I'll explain everything, but know this. If you come with me now, your life will never be the same. If you prefer, I can send you home. It's not too late." He swallowed a deep breath and held out his hand, prompting her to take it. "Your choice."
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